


Immolate

by PrintPulse



Category: Crayon Pop (Band), EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M, Firebending & Firebenders, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrintPulse/pseuds/PrintPulse
Summary: Chanyeol could grow fires in the palms of his hands; Baekhyun could only grow dread in the pit of his stomach.





	Immolate

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic hauled over from my LJ!

 

 

_Immolate: To kill or offer by sacrifice_

_(esp. burning)_

 

A constellation of tears on your lashes  
( _I’ll_ ) Burn everything you love then burn the ashes  
 _Fall Out Boy_

There is something about time; so fleeting and evasive in moments of joy, but also filling up all of the tiniest air pockets of your sorrow and making them span like elongated shadows shying away from a sunset. For Baekhyun, any time that he was gifted was brimming with Chanyeol. Not that he minded, he loved his best friend dearly, but couldn’t help but feel he had become something of a linchpin; Chanyeol often being more of a liability than anyone could have predicted and Baekhyun being the one whom would have to soothe any burns that he left behind. And, oh boy, did he burn quite a few people. Perhaps it was in his nature, but really Baekhyun thought people were just  _jealous_  of his best friend. He wouldn’t say it to his face, but Chanyeol was, put quite simply, the most… the most… the most  _everything._ Kind, funny, considerate; Baekhyun could write poems and novels about everything that Chanyeol was, words spilling and tumbling off of paper like literary tsunamis. But everything is everything and Chanyeol was also harsh, cruel and cold. Never mind, Baekhyun often muses, sipping tea and watching as his best friend pushes the plate of biscuits (in what he believes to be an inconspicuous way) away from himself and closer to Baekhyun; that is simply something a best friend has to accept.

_

“Don’t you think I look pretty, Baek?” 

Baekhyun looks over his shoulder to see Chanyeol fluttering his eyelashes, a polka dot covered bow nestled in his birds-nest of hair. He snorts, turning back to the table loaded with trinkets before him. They’re at the local market and would be otherwise swallowed by the bustling crowd, if it weren’t for Chanyeol’s towering height or loud guffaws. 

“Put that back, we’re here on a serious mission.”

Chanyeol groans, placing the bow besides several others and ignoring how the woman running the stall sends daggers his way. He sidles up to Baekhyun, peering over his shoulder at the metal glinting in the mid-day sun.

“Jewellery, you’re going to get her jewellery?”  He scoffs.

Baekhyun shifts his weight between his feet uncomfortably, mouth pulled downwards.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”  He inquires, voice unsure and wavering. Chanyeol doesn’t miss his tone, but still presses, still teases.

“It’s a bit forward isn’t it; suggests that it’s more than a high-school fling.” It’s not voiced as a question, but more of a jibe. Baekhyun is silent for a moment, Chanyeol’s words sloshing around in his head and the lack of conversation becoming almost unpalatable. When he speaks his words are tinged with shame.

“But I want it to be more than a fling.” 

Chanyeol frowns and leans closer to the table, trapping Baekhyun between gems and broad shoulders. He surveys the table for a moment, and Baekhyun follows suit, before rough hands swoop down to select a necklace; as sweet and easy as picking daisies from a field. It dangles in front of Baekhyun’s face, and the small enflamed gem in the centre glows warm in the sunlight.

“Best get her something nice, then.”

When Baekhyun takes the necklace from Chanyeol’s hands, they are red-hot. The necklace, despite its fire-side appearance, is icy in comparison. It’s a perfectly  _nice_ necklace for a perfectly  _nice_ girl.

“I’ll take this.” He mumbles at the stall owner, the gift hanging lithely from his bony fingers. 

“She’s a lucky girl.” The lady chirps, placing the necklace in a cream coloured box and accepting the crumpled notes from Baekhyun. Chanyeol pulls away from him, patting him firmly on the shoulder and nodding in agreement. 

Baekhyun tries not to shiver at the sudden temperature drop.

-

For the next few weeks Baekhyun is wrapped firmly in what his friends refer to as the ‘lovers’ balloon.’ He splutters incoherencies and blushes furiously because they’re not actually  _lovers_. Well, not yet. Ellin just smiles brightly and tugs at the necklace around her unmarred neck, giggling into Baekhyun’s side. Jongin gives him a sleazy smile and thumbs up, which only makes matters worse. It’s only when Joonmyun pulls Baekhyun to the side, grip a little tighter than necessary, that he realises anything is wrong.

“What’s going on with Chanyeol?”

And, as quickly as it came, the soft rosy clouds that had been cradling Baekhyun disperse and leave him vulnerable and bruised in the school corridor. 

“What do you mean?” He chokes out; tongue, eyes, thoughts heavy. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

Joonmyun lets go of his arm, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Are you kidding me, are you actually joking right now?” He says, words holding Baekhyun hostage, point-blank until he surrenders.

“I-I don’t-“  _I don’t know what you’re talking about_  he wants to say, because the last time he saw Chanyeol he was perfectly fine. But when was that, exactly?

“Just talk to him, before he gets himself in trouble.” Joonmyun sighs, dragging his palm over his eyes and walking slowly backwards.

“Happy Anniversary, or whatever.” He mumbles before turning on his heel and going to do whatever it is that Joonmyun fills his time with. Baekhyun practically runs to Chanyeol’s house because he can’t remember when he last saw his best friend, because he is swallowing lead-heavy guilt, because something is wrong with Chanyeol but  _he didn’t know._  

Because, while Joonmyun’s free time is practically a mystery, Baekhyun’s free time has always been Chanyeol’s. 

-

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Chanyeol grits out, hissing slightly at the frozen peas Baekhyun presses lightly to his jaw.

“Liar.” Baekhyun retaliates, looking pointedly at Chanyeol from his position opposite him. Chanyeol is peppered with nasty, purple bruises which dance along his jawline and Baekhyun feels positively sick. There could be far more, but Baekhyun can’t see behind the oversized jumper swaddling Chanyeol and hiding even his hands.

“It was just a little fight.” Chanyeol says in exasperation, staring back with equal intensity.

“There are no ‘little fights’, Yeol, only quieter ones.” 

Chanyeol stays silent at that, to pacify Baekhyun more than anything else. He allows Baekhyun’s slender fingers to ease away the pain for a moment longer before pushing his hand gently aside.

“They’re melting.” 

“Are we fighting?”

“I feel like it’s been raining on my face.”

“I don’t like fights, even the quieter type.”

“Could you get me a towel?”

Baekhyun stares at Chanyeol, Chanyeol stares back. There is a moment, in which Baekhyun thinks perhaps they won’t even talk about it; they’ve never been the type to talk. But then again, they’ve never been the type to fight. It passes when Chanyeol discards the peas somewhere to his right and shuffles along the kitchen floor;  _closer and closer_  until their foreheads are touching.

“Why would we be fighting, Baek?” Chanyeol’s breath is dangerous and sets Baekhyun’s cheeks aflame.

“I dunno. It’s just that Joonmyun said…” Baekhyun trails off, because what had Joonmyun really said aside from pointing out that Baekhyun is a pretty unobservant friend? Chanyeol snorts and Baekhyun blinks rapidly at the sudden noise; eyelashes fluttering and jerking out of his best friend’s grasp.

“Joonmyun says a lot of things.” Chanyeol states, pulling Baekhyun back into his grip for a fleeting hug, the warmth of which blisters and boils Baekhyun’s train of thought. Chanyeol stands up suddenly, pulling Baekhyun with him, before stretching and mewling like a cat. The sleeves of his jumper tumble to his elbows and Baekhyun almost chokes.

“W-what are those?” 

Chanyeol follows Baekhyun’s line of sight to his revealed hands and wrists, which are covered puckered pink skin, the slight sheen tell-tale of scars. 

“Are those burns?” Baekhyun splutters, his stomach cold and eyes wide. Chanyeol puts his arms down quickly with a grimace and tries to hide, curl in on himself, but Baekhyun is far quicker than he ever has been. He grasps the baggy, grey sleeves and pushes them up slowly, revealing flushed, vicious skin curling far further than just his forearm. 

“Chanyeol.”

“Baek, please.”  Baekhyun looks up to see Chanyeol’s eyes pleading  _please, not now._ Baekhyun’s thoughts are Himalayan, but he knows better than to push an envelope until it bursts.

“Later?”

“Later.”

Baekhyun lets Chanyeol’s sleeves fall back into place.

-

“Are you ok?” 

Baekhyun surfaces to Ellin’s brows knitted with concern only to unstitch them with a gentle press of his lips. 

“Just a bit tired, is all.”  Baekhyun says, and it’s not exactly a lie because he had been awake most of the night, vivid swathes of fires and tender skin playing on the underside of his eyelids.

“Make sure you don’t over-work yourself.” Ellin frets and she looks so  _pretty_ , all blonde hair and pink cherry lips. Baekhyun knows that he has fallen in deep; lets himself  
bathe in her presence until Chanyeol stumbles beside her.

“Ellin, my girl!” He bellows, his mouth stretched into a bright smile set to disarm.

“Chanyeol, my boy!” Ellin crows back, her smile just as blinding. Baekhyun revels in it for a moment; the lightness, the warmth of his two favourite people seeming so happy.  
He falters, however, when he sees how Chanyeol’s normally rolled-up sleeves are pulled down and how he is wearing fingerless gloves despite the scorching weather outside. Chanyeol catches him looking, of course he does, but his grin doesn’t wane. Instead he cups Ellin’s face and chuckles.

“Can I steal your boyfriend?”

Ellin giggles back, wriggling out of Chanyeol’s grip. 

“You don’t have to ask me that,” she rolls her eyes before narrowing them, “but make sure he gets some sleep, Chanyeol.”

“Roger that, Ma’am.” 

Next thing Baekhyun knows, his best friend is pulling him down the corridor, ignoring his protests of  _but Yeol, I have class._

“Just live in the moment, Baek.”

-

Chanyeol takes Baekhyun to the fair, which is all types of strange and cliché and Baekhyun says as much. Chanyeol only laughs, his deep baritone reverberating through his bones and  _yes, Baekhyun has missed him so much._

“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel, finish this teen drama in style, eh?”

Baekhyun nods and lets himself and his bloom of candyfloss be stuffed into a rickety, paint-peeling seat. Chanyeol and the safety bar fall into place beside him and then they’re up, up and away. Baekhyun feels like he could touch the sky; catch the apricot rays of the sun on his tongue and savour them like sickly sweet syrup. 

“It’s later.” Chanyeol breathes when they reach the top of the wheel. Baekhyun doesn’t look at Chanyeol; instead he looks at his long legs, too lanky to fit comfortably into the miniature car. 

“I suppose it is.” Baekhyun replies, words garbled and thick like the candyfloss now wilting in his grasp.

“Look at me.”

Baekhyun doesn’t.

_“Look at me.”_

Baekhyun does and wishes he hadn’t. Chanyeol’s face is twisted, hurt; the epitome of pain and secrets-to-be-disclosed. He waits for words that never come. Instead, Chanyeol slowly pulls off one of his gloves, rolls up his sleeves and stares intently at his upturned palm. Baekhyun is beginning to question his best friend’s sanity when suddenly a small flame the size of a coin begins to lick and curl at Chanyeol’s hand. Baekhyun gasps, whimpers, jerks in surprise and the small cart swings nauseatingly in response.  
“Sit still.” Chanyeol grinds out, face contorted with intense concentration. Baekhyun does as he’s told, leaning as far away from him as physically possible. It doesn’t make a difference, because he can still feel the dry heat emitted from Chanyeol’s palm, can still see the flame curl higher and higher and up his forearm and Baekhyun is about to have a panic attack; his best friend is going to set them both aflame before it all just  _stops._  The flame dissipates and only tendrils of ashy smoke remain, floating away from the newly red-raw skin left behind. 

-

“So you can just…” Baekhyun lowers his voice, mind still reeling; a record scratched and stuck on repeat, “Make fire?” 

Chanyeol sighs, running his hands through his unkempt hair and Baekhyun sees that his sleeves are rolled down once more, hiding his burns from prying eyes. Then, all of a  
sudden, he sees;  _really, truly sees._  He sees, in his mind’s eye, the infinite landscape of Chanyeol’s reddened skin and blanches at the thought.

“Oh my god, Yeol, doesn’t it hurt?” Baekhyun knows it is a stupid question, as soon as it leaves his mouth, but he can’t quite form words at this moment in time; not when his brain is brimming with a phantasmagorias of dark, sooty smoke; curling and smouldering around Chanyeol until consumption. “It did… does?” Chanyeol fumbles with his syllables too, but Baekhyun finds little comfort in it, “At first it was really bad, but it gets better, somehow.”

“Better.” Baekhyun echoes.

Chanyeol nods shakily, tugging at his jumper in an attempt to hide in plain sight. 

“Can you control it?” 

“Most of the time; it’s more difficult when I’m mad or upset or… jealous.” Chanyeol sniffles a little, drawing his knees up to his chest. Baekhyun is frightened by the pure vulnerability he sees; how Chanyeol has exposed his fragile, bleached bones to him when all Baekhyun has ever been is heavy handed. Uncertain, he scoots closer and presses their foreheads together, rekindling memories of linoleum flaw and frozen vegetables.

“Why would you be jealous, Yeol?”

This time, it is Baekhyun’s words which have the power to set cheeks ablaze.

-

He sticks to Chanyeol’s side like glue after that; he feels a little ridiculous, clucking like a mother hen, anxious when Chanyeol wanders out of his sight. Not that it stops him because, while his best friend may have been gifted with god-like powers over fire, he had no such power over healing. It meant, by consequence, that his scars remained embedded far longer than either of them were comfortable with. Baekhyun was already plagued with nightmares of slow-burning fires, ones which he had no desire to see manifest on flesh. But, despite it all, Chanyeol didn’t have another ‘accident’, and he began to feel the slow trickle of normality seep back into his life. 

“I am telling you,” Jongin begins as he falls into the flimsy plastic chair beside Joonmyun, “the food here is toxic.” As if to punctuate his point he drops his tray unceremoniously on the table. Baekhyun peers at the oozing mush, and then pulls his lunchbox closer to his chest. 

“You should bring in lunch from home.”  Baekhyun supplies, fixing Jongin with a pointed look.

“Ah, too much effort.” He groans, stealing a sandwich from a disbelieving Joonmyun, whose words of irritation are cut short by Chanyeol’s booming voice.

“I have arrived.” 

“He hath arrived.” Baekhyun responds as Chanyeol squishes himself onto Baekhyun’s chair, despite the empty one next to Jongin. 

“Did ya miss me?” Chanyeol grins, face pressed so close, his lashes become bold strokes against sun-kissed skin.

“Maybe.”  

Chanyeol hums contentedly as his answer, and for a moment Baekhyun is held suspended in the pure effervescent feeling of joy before-

“Baekhyun?”  The boy in question turns to see Ellin; golden, honey curls a halo around her soft, snowy skin _. So pale, in comparison to Chanyeol’s_ , Baekhyun thinks. 

“Can we talk?” Her voice catches and spills, her hands grasped bone-white around her necklace.

“S-sure.”

-

They drink themselves into a stupor that evening; his parents are away for the week and Chanyeol only too willing and pliant that day. Baekhyun had never thought about drowning his sorrows before, but it seemed to make sense, now that his world was tilted on its axis and his heart left a pulsating, crimson hole entrenched into his very being. She had done it quickly, Baekhyun muses, and perhaps he should be grateful for such small favours. But he’s not; because it was clinical and cold and a matter of a few syllables.  _I don’t think this is going to work, Baekhyun._ His heart aches, so he takes another swig from the bottle.

“I’m sorry, Baek.”

Baekhyun looks over to see Chanyeol; half slumped on the floor, mouth loose and agape. His best friend is almost as drunk as he is, if the unfocused look in his eyes is anything to go by. Still, he manages to look sympathetic, and his intense gaze burns far deeper than Baekhyun can stand.

“Issokay” Baekhyun mumbles, tongue heavy and thick in his mouth. It really isn’t okay, but Baekhyun doesn’t want the fervid pity his best friend flings through the haze of alcohol.

“You’ll find someone better.” He announces and Baekhyun feels something white-hot snap and hiss in his stomach and he bares his teeth in response because no,  _he won’t find anyone better, she was the best thing that he had_. He  _loved_  her.

“She left me because of y-you,” He spits, his words poison and prickles. He doesn’t want to fight, Baekhyun hates fights, but it’s too late now, “She said you were always there, all over me, suffocating and that I care more for you than her.”   
Baekhyun takes another gulp of alcohol and glares at Chanyeol, whose eye are wide and frantic.

“She broke up with me because of you and I hate you for it.” 

Chanyeol recoils, head jerking at the ferocity of such bitter words, his response a manifestation on Baekhyun proverbial slap.

“I’m sorry, Baek, I didn’t mean-“

“Yeah, well your ‘sorry’ won’t bring her back, will it?”

Chanyeol burns at that; the blame and the guilt too much for his alcohol clouded mind to handle. 

“I didn’t ask for her to break up with you!”

“You didn’t have to!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I  _hate_ you, Park Chanyeol.”

And now they’re yelling in each other’s faces, shackles up and breathing the same spirit laden air; their thoughts turned sour and mordacious. Baekhyun finds it hard to see beyond the water in his eyes and he can smell the alcohol on Chanyeol breath, swears that he can see the tears on Chanyeol’s lashes coruscate and  _he is so angry, this is all his fault._ Then the next thing Baekhyun knows, his mouth is pressed against Chanyeol’s; hot and heavy and desperate. He thinks he can taste ash on the back of his tongue, but he’s not sure because he is drowning in hot presses of skin and warm, wandering hands. It’s a few seconds later that Baekhyun realises that the flush on his skin isn’t from desire, but from actual flames coiling and searing around his shoulder. 

He yells, pulls away from Chanyeol and  _oh god the pain._  He can’t extinguish the flames like Chanyeol can, and they continue to eat away until he is thrown against the ground, frantic hands pressing against the blaze until they extinguish with the sickening sizzle of skin against skin. They’re both left gasping and panting messes on the floor. It hurts to move, but Baekhyun defiantly turns to stare at Chanyeol’s blackened hands; the ones he had used to suffocate the flames.

“Yeol,” He gasps, face contorted, “Yeol, we need to get you to a hospital.”

Chanyeol chokes, trembles at the charred skin on his palms, before collapsing in dry sobs at Baekhyun side.

“Baek, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

Baekhyun just sighs, ignores the bile that rises when he pulls Chanyeol into a hug and, like he always has, soothes the burns Chanyeol left behind.

-

They are watching the sunset, basking in the slipping away sun, when Chanyeol speaks. His whisper is warm and hazy in Baekhyun’s ear, luring him closer into his embrace.

“I love you, you know.” 

Baekhyun feels his words like spun sugar; hot, fluid and crystallising in the cool air. He pulls at Chanyeol’s gloves, feeling the wildfire in his stomach stutter into a softly glowing flame. 

“Yeah, me too, Yeol.”


End file.
